


Business As Usual

by AngelWithAStory



Category: Young Justice
Genre: Alfred's cookies are amazing, Depression, Self Harm, Suicide Attempt, Tim to the rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:05:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/733936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelWithAStory/pseuds/AngelWithAStory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Wally gone, and everything that happened, Dick was left feeling weak. Weaker than he'd felt before. If Tim hadn't found him when he did....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Business As Usual

**Author's Note:**

> first off, a warning:: THIS FIC REFERS TO AND DESCRIBES SUICIDE AND A FAILED SUICIDE ATTEMPT. If this bothers you or you don't want to read about that, turn back now.   
> As you can tell, I'm not handling Endgame well. I just think Nightwing would be feeling insanely depressed since his best friend CEASED TO SAVE THE WORLD! I'm still not over it!!

“Business as usual.” Nightwing muttered with a smile on his face. He turned around slowly and walked towards the zeta tubes. Nightwing paused for a moment and looked back over his shoulder. His eyes fixed on Tim for a moment and an odd feeling rose in his chest. Pride? Regret? Protectiveness? 

An echo passed through his thoughts. Nightwing reached into his pocket and drew out a folded piece of paper. It had the Nightwing symbol on the front in electric blue and a pre-written note on the inside. He pinned it to the wall and shook his head. 

“Goodbye, little Robin.” He whispered to himself, tapping in the coordinates for Gotham. 

 

“Err, Robin, there’s a note here. And it’s addressed to you.” Cassie said uncertainly, taking the note off the wall. Robin walked up behind her, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. 

“Who would leave me a note?” He inquired, taking the folded paper off Wondergirl. It had the word ‘ _Robin_ ’ written with a blue bird underneath. 

“I dunno. Hey, isn’t that Nightwing’s insignia?” She questioned, pointing out the easily recognisable bird. A small drop of dread ran through Robin and he opened the paper, scanning it quickly.

“Oh no.” He hissed, without meaning to. 

“What?” Cassie questioned, looking at Robin quizzically. 

“I need to go. Tell Kal... Aqualad that I have to leave. I’ll explain everything when I get back.” Robin promised, running into the zeta-tube. He walked out the old photo booth and ripped off his mask. Stuffing it in his pocket, Tim pulled out a sports bag that he kept beside the booth. It contained a pair of jeans and a jacket. Hurriedly, Tim pulled them over his Robin outfit and started running. He ran to Dick’s loft apartment. That note had scared him - and it took a lot to frighten a child trained by The Batman himself. Tim only stopped to pull out his key Dick had given him and open the apartment door. Martial arts equipment littered the interior. Tim did a quick scan and began searching the room. The bedroom was empty (but really messy - Dick really needed to clean up after himself) and so was the kitchen. Tim stopped in front of the bathroom. 

“Oh God, please no.” Tim whispered to himself. Fear took over and Tim kicked down the door. The sight inside made Tim’s stomach churn. Dick was strewn across the floor. He wore jogging bottoms and a short-sleeve t-shirt. Ribbons of blood swirled across the floor, tracing back to Dick’s arms. 

Tim’s brain kicked into overdrive and he ran to the landline. 

“Dick you are so stupid sometimes.” He muttered, angrily pressing 9-1-1 on the phone. 

“Hello?” The voice on the other end of the line asked. 

“Hi, I need an ambulance. My brother, he’s hurt. I don’t know what happened. I just found him like this!” Tim explained hurriedly, smoothly disguising the whole truth. 

“Okay. Calm down, Sir. What is your address?” The woman asked. Tim reeled off the apartment building name. 

“Please. Send someone quick! I don’t know how bad he’s hurt!” Tim urged, controlling his voice skilfully. Batman didn’t just teach him acrobatic skills. 

“Someone’s already on their way to your location. They should be there in a matter of minutes.” The woman reassured Tim. 

“Thank you.” Tim replied, putting down the receiver. He walked back into the bathroom and knelt beside his adoptive older brother. 

“Dick Grayson you really are a moron.” Tim berated, shifting Dick’s torso onto his knees. Keeping his airways clear was important. Tim had no idea how long he’d been like this. A knock at the door echoed through the empty apartment and Tim looked towards the sound. 

“Paramedics!” A man’s voice shouted. 

“Hang on!” Tim called back, gently resting Dick back on the floor. “At least you had the sense to get changed.” He muttered, running to the front door. 

“Did you call for medics?” The man asked, his voice urgent. 

“Yes. He’s in the bathroom.” Tim replied, leading them to Dick. 

 

“What happened?” Bruce demanded, storming into the ER ward. Tim looked around from the front desk and a sense of relief washed over him. 

“Excuse me sir,” The receptionist said politely, looking up at Bruce curiously. 

“I just got a call saying Dick Grayson, my ward, had been submitted. Is it possible to see him?” Bruce questioned, recovering his normal, charming demeanour. 

“Yes, it is possible. We just have a few sheets which need completing. This man here has already started filling them in...” The receptionist explained. Bruce looked at Tim as if for the first time and his eyes widened slightly. 

“Tim. Did you find him? What happened?” Bruce interrogated, turning to Tim quickly. 

“Mr Wayne. Please. It looks like your ward was submitted with cuts on his arms. He’s stable right now and in recovery. If this boy hadn’t got there in time...” The receptionist trailed off, casting her eyes down. 

“Please, can we see him?” Tim pleaded, looking at them imploringly. 

“Of course. Mr Wayne, if you wouldn’t mind just finishing off the paperwork.” 

“Okay. Tim, why don’t you go see Dick?” Bruce suggested. Tim nodded and followed the nurse to the private room Dick was submitted to. 

“Hey Dickie boy.” Tim teased, closing the door behind him. 

“Hey Timmy.” Dick replied. His voice was slurred with the medication and his eyes were lidded heavily. 

“Do you know you are a massive idiot?” Tim inquired. “Because you really are a moron.”

“M’not.” Dick protested weakly. 

“Yes you are. You tried to end your own life, Dick! You slit your wrists! I know that losing Wally was painful, and that he was your best friend, but was it _that_ bad? Did you ever think about us?! We’re your family! You’re my mentor! I look up to you! Bruce is your guardian! He’s your father! I’m your brother! And you were going to leave us!” Tim accused, his voice growing in volume out of anger and fear. 

“I was weak. What did you expect? I just lost my best friend because he tried to save the world. I felt weak and I didn’t know what to do.” Dick retorted. He didn’t get angry, but his voice was still harsh. 

“We could have helped you. Supported you.” Tim countered. He let all his anger go when he saw the pain in Dick’s eyes. “I was just scared.” He admitted, moving over to the hospital bed and pulling up a chair. 

“The great Tim Drake was scared?” Dick repeated, a small smirk on his face. 

“I was scared I was going to lose my big brother.” Tim clarified, resting his forearms on the pristine sheets. 

“I’m not going anywhere Timmy. Not anymore.” Dick stated weakly. 

“Promise?” 

“I promise, little bird.” Dick raised his hand and rested it over Tim’s forearm reassuringly. At that moment, Bruce opened the door cautiously. 

“Hi.” Tim said, looking at Bruce with an almost guilty expression. 

“Hey Bruce.” Dick greeted lazily. 

“Dick,” Bruce strode over to the hospital bed and threw his arms around Dick’s shoulders. “You scared me. I just got a phone call saying you were in the hospital. Don’t do that to me again.” He warned, not letting his voice get too harsh. 

“I won’t.” Dick’s voice was tired. 

“Good. Or none of Alfred’s cooking for a week.” Bruce threatened half-heartedly. 

“He made some cookies, didn’t he?” Tim asked, a small note of hopefulness in his voice. 

“You know Alfred.” Bruce replied breezily. 

“Good old Alf.” Dick agreed. 


End file.
